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SEAL funerals were the only reason Coop had ever unexpectantly taken time off work, and even then he stayed in constant contact with me and our Intelligence and Activity department. Skipping his former teammate’s funeral had raised red flags for me as well, but I wasn’t ready to collaborate with Wolfe.
As OZ’s figure head, I often had to think on the fly. While I wasn’t proud of it, deception had become an art form for me. But this had to do with Coop. My Coop. My-sharky. And not knowing where he’d been for the past month had sent my normally functioning brainwaves into a swirling cat-five hurricane. I resorted to playing dumb, despite speaking English better than my native tongue. “Scoop?”
“Is something going on with the emerald mine?”
I narrowed my eyes. If it weren’t for Sapien, the cutting-edge biometrics software suite Beryl Technologies had in development for the CIA, I might’ve never known where Coop had disappeared to.
“How did you know he was in Brazil from just one screenshot?”
Wolfe shrugged. “I didn’t. It was just a guess.”
“Good guess,” I muttered, disappointed he didn’t have more information than I did. But at least I had an angle to deflect him with. “We were testing the advances to Sapien and Mr. Cooper agreed to play hide and seek.”
Mr. Cooper?Yeah, that didn’t sound sketch. I doubted anyone had ever called him ‘Mr. Cooper’ in his life.
Wolfe hiked up his brows, but all he said was, “Must be magic if it caught the Ghost.”
Ghost. Another one of the mythical Michael Cooper’s nicknames. This one a throwback to his Navy days when he and another of his teammates, Nikolas Steele, had been MIA in the Hindu Kush, but how apt it was. The infuriating man sure knew how to ghost a girl! Figures, Navy SEALs did everything to the fullest.
I focused back on Wolfe. “You didn’t guess Brazil. Or if you did it was an educated one. Show me what you saw.”
Wolfe moved closer, bracing one hand on the ebony pillar of my four-poster bed as he pointed. “That sign there? It’s in Portuguese, and Coop is wearing a Flamengo football jersey, the most popular team in the region. The only football Coop acknowledges is American-style, and the only team he roots for is the Texas Longhorns. The hair, beard, clothing… He’s blending in as a local.”
While I’d been impressed with Wolfe’s competency as a career operator over the past few years, I hadn’t worked closely enough with him to see this analytical side. No wonder Coop had entrusted his former teammate to keep OZ’s private island secure in his stead—the eagle-eye SEAL didn’t miss a detail.
His attention stayed trained on the screen in my hands as his fingers worked to zoom it out.
“Yep, two more men in the crowd are dressed just like him as well. See, the police shield shape is Santos, and that green one is another Flamengo. And…” Wolfe zoomed in again, this time on a woman whose backside extended a good foot and a half from her tiny frame.
It wasn’t just big, it was…
“Looks like one of those balloon animals, doesn’t it? Nowhere else on the planet will they do a butt-job like that, nor should they.”
He straightened, towering above me. His cocky grin told me he knew I was impressed. “Sometimes it takes more than software to see the world.”
I swallowed and glanced away. I hadn’t realized it was so obvious how sheltered I was on Marakata Cay. My virtual reach might’ve been global, thanks to Beryl Enterprises’ extensive technology, but physically leaving wasn’t an option. Not even when I desperately wanted to chase after my runaway heart.
I glanced back. Wolfe’s ice-blue eyes had dropped to my lap. The waistband of my flannel pajama pants gaped and the drawstrings dangled. I jerked my comforter over the swathe of naked skin, hoping I hadn’t just flashed my kus at Wolfe.
He spun on his heel and headed for the door. With a throat-clearing cough, he grunted, “Send Mr. Cooper my apologies for interrupting your game of hide and seek.”
Shit shit shit. I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out his broad back as he retreated with a snicker.
Unfortunately, like everything I wanted, ripping my covers over my head and screaming would have to wait. I was just as much a workaholic as Coop. A slave to the island and a slave to OZ. And Spec Ops didn’t make a habit of coming to my bedroom in the middle of the night unless it was important.
“Wolfe, stop. You needed something?”
“Oh shit, right.” He shook his head as if to refocus. When he turned back, his professional expression was firmly in place. “We’re getting notifications of a ship in distress. Colt’s got a rescue boat almost there now.”
I set my tablet aside. Had I really been so consumed with chasing after an unrealistic, unrequited crush that I’d missed a ship getting near the island?
“How close are they?”
“We’re the only ones who can respond.”
“Exactly how close? Coordinates.”
Wolfe rattled them off and my mouth went dry. I swung my legs out from the covers, twisted my waistband in my fist and headed for the bathroom to change. “I’ll let Zaki know.”
